


carry me back to shore

by theladysnark (corpsesoldier)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corpsesoldier/pseuds/theladysnark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man who was the Winter Soldier has never run from anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	carry me back to shore

The man who was the Winter Soldier has never run from anything. He was ordered to fight, to kill, and so he did. Without question, he did.

No one’s giving him orders. He failed his mission. He disobeyed.

(I won’t fight you)

The man with no name is running now. Running away from the man on the bridge. Away from the museum where a man he doesn’t know looks out from his eyes.

He gets away from people. He runs to park, forests, mountains. Somewhere quiet and remote. Trying to drop off the grid. Anywhere the man on the bridge won’t find him. He knows he’s looking.

He doesn’t know how, but he’s sure the man on the bridge is looking for him.

The weight of another man’s life drags at his heels with every step. They come in flashes. War. Amusement parks. Gunfire. Laughter. A man in a ridiculous costume. A fragile boy with kind blue eyes. Part of him isn’t convinced they could be his memories. They don’t fit together with whatever he is now. Whoever he is.

Part of him was already convinced before the man on the bridge called out a name he didn’t know. When the man on the bridge looked at him and saw him. His eyes were blue. They were kind.

(I’m with you till the end of the line)

Confusion writhes fierce and insistent in his mind. He doesn’t know what to do. There had never been room for doubt before. Just instructions and missions parameters. Whenever strange thoughts crowded into his head, the technicians would strap him down and fit the machine over his head. They would hurt him. The pain made put the world back into place. It would turn sharp and clear as glass. He could focus. He could do what he was told.

There’s no one here to give him orders. He’s alone, trees all around, not quite sure where _here_ is.  He feels like he’s spiraling. Twisting in the wind. Like the only way left to him is down, down, down toward wreckage and fire that will burn everything away.

A fragment of memory bobs to the surface.

The man on the bridge, but a different bridge, a different time. Like reused camera film, two images superimposed over each other. Fire. He can feel the heat through the soles of his shoes. The bridge is broken. Each of them on a side.

The man on the bridge shouts for him to go.

The words that come from his mouth surprise him. “No! Not without you!”

Not his words. This man isn’t him. He would have gone. He would have acted in self-preservation. He would have left the man on the bridge to burn.

_Would you?_

An unfamiliar voice scatters the memory. His own voice.

_Would you have let him die?_

A more recent memory, dragged unbidden from the confused tumult of his thoughts. The man on the bridge falling into the water. Sinking.

And himself jumping after him. Pulling the man to shore. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t begin to understand. But he knows, he _knows_ , he can’t let this man die.

_Who is Bucky?_

“I don’t know.” He growls through his teeth. His hands curl into his fists at his sides. Flesh and metal. He feels them shaking.

_Who is Bucky?_

“I don’t know!” He roars, whirling around like he expects to find his tormentor there. “Leave me alone!”

_You do._

“No, I _don’t!”_ He slams his metal fist against a tree. The wood splinters under the impact. He leaves a twisted half-circle carved out of the trunk.

_You knew him_.

“Stop!”

He’s on his knees. The storm presses down on him, forcing him to the ground. He shakes. Gasps. Digs his fingers into the dirt. He tries to fight back, but there’s nothing. Nothing to hit, nothing that bleeds. Just memories. Memories big enough and fierce enough to burn a hole in his chest.

He knows that whatever it is will destroy him. It will tear him apart piece by carefully guarded piece. It will leave him raw. It will crush him. And worst of all, he wants it. He’s scared, he’s so scared, but more than anything else he wants to _know_ —

And he remembers.

Just one word. A name. Caught in his throat like a sob.

“Steve.”


End file.
